


The cold nights have been guilty

by hellhoundtheory



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 21:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1998231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundtheory/pseuds/hellhoundtheory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky are stranded in a cabin in the winter. Tropey smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The cold nights have been guilty

**Author's Note:**

> So there were supposed to be feelings and discussions and longing stares... but then there was just cuddling and boners. Oops.   
> Title from Heinrich von Veldeke's Ez habent die kalte nähte getân   
> Translation  
> The cold nights have been guilty  
> Of changing the leaves on the linden trees  
> to take on a wintry color.  
> I had enjoyed high hopes for love,  
> and now I know that my love has ended.  
> I have lost the best time and place  
> there where I find good love  
> and where I can win this happiness.

It wasn’t as if Bucky really got cold, not the way most people felt cold. But it sank into his bones regardless, biting at his fingers and settling in the pit of his stomach, heavy and dense. He could tell that Steve felt it too, much as he put on a brave face. 

The cold didn’t bring back good memories for either of them. 

“You okay, Buck?” He nods, lungs filled with too much cold air to make a reply. He’s really not okay, but that’s a thought he doesn’t want to dwell on as he tries not to fall asleep, staggering his breathing and trying to stay awake by focusing on Steve’s strong strides in front of him. Most people—they fall asleep most easily when it’s warm, huddled under blankets or spread-eagled in the summer heat, comfortable. And he could too. But he often found himself drifting off when they put the air conditioner too low—only to jolt awake with nightmares of what usually comes after the cold sleep.

Needless to say, he preferred falling asleep warm, even if it didn’t come quite as easily as it did in the cold. It was by unspoken agreement that he and Steve shared a bed and blanket most nights so that the steady heat of his bedfellow could lull him into better nightmares, and sometimes—once in a blue moon—a pleasant dream.

Their mission was simple—retrieve intel from a Russian ex-spy living in a cabin in Nunavut. Except that it was winter and their snowmobiles ran out of gas on the way back to the rendezvous point in Iqaluit. It was only a mile or two from the cabin where Nicola—their contact—was. 

“Asshole must have siphoned our gas when he was getting firewood.” Steve complained after their mobiles skidded to a stop, empty but for a drop of gas. 

So they’re hiking back to the damn cabin, and Steve is still livid with anger, while Bucky is simply planning on tying the guy up and taking over the cabin. A toasty fire for him and Steve and the guy sitting in the cold for half an hour or so would slake his sense of justice.

He can’t even feel his dick, much less the rest of him, by the time he and Steve manage to tromp back to the cabin. And, of course, Nicola is long gone, having used the gas to fill his own vehicle and left that way. He and Steve are stranded, for the time being. 

When they enter the cabin, the more prized personal possessions are gone, as well as basic survival gear, but there’s food and the fire hasn’t even quite burned down. Bucky removes his thick gloves and gets to work on building the fire back up. His metal arm is built to withstand these sorts of conditions, and he uses it while he tries to get feeling back in the other one. 

After a couple minutes, the fire is happily dancing in the fireplace; Steve’s already undressed down to his long johns and perusing the cans of food with a blanket worn around his shoulders. Bucky barely managed to unzip his coat, he was so determined to feed the fire back to health. And finally being inside, away from the wind whipping at his face and the wet snow tangling in his hair, was more than enough to warm him. He forgets that he doesn’t have to stay in cold clothes after freezing.

He forgets that a lot.

Before he can even think about it, Steve’s coaxing the parka from his shoulders, murmuring, “You’re gonna freeze if you leave that on.” Bucky knows it, but Steve’s still taking care of him. A year since he’s regained his memories and it’ll always be Steve, reminding him to eat, nagging him to take a shower even when he doesn’t need to—Steve takes daily showers, since it’s apparently a faux-pas not to be sparkling clean every minute of every day—and makes sure that Bucky changes his clothes, doesn’t wear the same long sleeve t-shirt two days in a row. 

He puts his hand over Steve’s, and the hands on his jacket relax, automatically, stopping. Steve may nag, but he always respects Bucky’s space. Bucky probably wouldn’t have gotten through the year without a serious mental break if Steve didn’t always give him a choice. Not that he didn’t have multiple mental breaks, but they were nothing that got him fired from SHIELD.

“What?” Steve asks after a minute of stalemate, Bucky’s flesh hand still warm on Steve’s, which hovers above Bucky’s shoulder. 

Bucky doesn’t even know why he stopped his friend. He struggles for words and there’s a flush creeping up the back of his neck that has nothing to do with the fire and everything to do with Steve kneeling behind him, clothed in that skin-tight thermal and practically trying to undress him. 

“I, I’m gonna go change.” He retreats to the bathroom, which is pretty luxurious for a cabin, but not surprising. Nicola had hid out here for over ten years, and it had all the amenities a five-hundred square foot space could have. There was barely a draft when Bucky stripped down to the least of his clothes. He wasn’t quite smart enough to wear proper long underwear when they did this mission—Steve hadn’t told him to and he didn’t really think of anything besides outerwear—even the Russians remembered that he needed a coat, so Bucky did too. The flannel-lined jeans he had worn had been soaked in the heavy snow and the collar of his shirt was wet and cold where snow had fallen down the collar of his jacket, leaving him in his boxers. He hangs the clothes on the shower rod along with Steve’s and takes a deep breath before heading back out. The bathroom hadn’t been nearly as warm as the rest of the cabin, and goosebumps littered his bare skin. 

“Didn’t you wear…?” Bucky shakes his head at Steve’s question, asked from the kitchen area where two cans of some sort of stew were being heated up.

With a sigh, Steve turns off the pint-sized stove and leads Bucky to the couch in front of the fire with a hand on the small of his back, the callouses of his hand rough against the cold skin. He puts the blanket on the couch over Bucky, followed by another, before sliding behind him, body warm at Bucky’s back.

Bucky can’t really complain; he nestles himself into the circle of Steve’s arms and tries not to think about Steve’s face burrowed into his neck and the warmth of Steve’s breath skating over Bucky’s skin.

“You do realize that there’s a bed right there,” Bucky manages after a minute of feeling nearly every inch of Steve’s solid body pressed into him. 

“I don’t really want to get anywhere near that guy’s bed.”

“Why?”

“You saw his shipping records. There were a whole lot of tissues.”

“Maybe he has allergies.” 

Steve chuckles into Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky could swear he feels Steve’s brighter-than-the-damn-sun smile burning a hole into him. They’re silent for a few minutes, watching the flames and letting warmth flow between them. When Steve shifts his hips away from Bucky—enough that his chest no longer warms Bucky’s back—Bucky unwittingly chases the contact, pressing back up against Steve. 

_Oh._

It’s not like this hadn’t happened before, to both of them, really, because they were dudes who shared a bed and it’s a natural thing that happens during sleep and there were plenty of times one of them had snuck to the bathroom after waking up with morning wood. But they were not asleep and they were on a couch and there was not a whole lot of room for them to hide that. Heat coiled in his stomach and Bucky tried not to let himself get hard as he relaxed again. Maybe it would make it seem like he hadn’t noticed.

Even though it’s pressed and insistent against his backside. And, God help him, he just wants to grind back against it. Bucky shifts, just enough so that the hard line of Steve’s dick is felt between his cheeks, through the thin layers of fabric. The quiet is breached by Steve’s intake of breath, shallow and harsh and loud against the background noise of the fire crackling and the wind whistling outside the cabin. Bucky bites his lip, and feels his dick fill with warmth, aching and fully hard just from the sound of Steve’s breathing as he holds himself absolutely still.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice is hesitant and breathy in his ear and Bucky can’t help but shiver, though not from the cold, which had long since dissipated, replaced by heat flooding his veins and his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He can’t make a sound, his mouth is dry and all he can do is turn around in the circle of Steve’s arms and mentally let out a prayer as his lips search out Steve’s.

And then Steve’s arms are tight against him and they’re surging together and Bucky’s been thinking about this for _months_. With the way Steve’s fingers dig into the muscle of his back, blunt nails just barely scraping the skin and it’s he thinks that the wet heat of Steve’s mouth is the best thing he’s felt since 1945.

He wraps his fingers in the short strands of Steve’s hair and the asshole groans into his mouth and grabs Bucky’s hips and grinds them together and Bucky could swear he didn’t just moan that loudly, but he knows he did.

And he’s not even ashamed, because the friction is absolutely divine and he can’t think of anything better than Steve’s warm body pressed against his. 

That’s until Steve’s fingers play at the elastic of his boxers, a silent question presented with butterfly kisses up his clavicle, and it’s all he can do to breathe out a _”Yes._ before Steve’s hand is wrapped around his dick and he’s just along for the ride as the warm hand jacks him just tight enough, thumbing at the slit on the upstroke and the thought of Steve doing this to himself, thinking about him, makes it even better—but it also reminds Bucky that Steve is still too clothed.

So he’s unsnapping the buttons of the long johns and very carefully not ripping anything, but hardly going slow as he reaches his destination and wraps a hand around Steve’s dick and the sharp gasp against his lips is enough to tell Bucky that he’s not going to last long. 

Which is good, because Bucky’s hovering on the edge and he needs Steve to join him.

Their legs tangle in the blankets, but Bucky’s not about to be outdone by Steve’s handjob. He starts kissing down the broad expanse of Steve’s chest, tonguing and biting his way to the swollen cock still bulging against the thin material of the long johns.

Just a touch against the taut material and Steve’s dick is springing out and Bucky’s licking his already spit-slick lips before pressing a kiss to the head, tentatively tonguing the slit.

“Bucky!”

That’s all the encouragement he needs to wrap his hand around the base and his lips around the rest of it. The tip of Steve’s cock hits the back of his throat and he can’t help but groan. The vibrations cause Steve’s breath to hitch and Bucky smirks a little around the girth of Steve’s cock.

Steve’s eyes are rapt on Bucky’s mouth stretched around him and Bucky’s proud of the heavy-lidded glassiness of Steve’s eyes and the flush spreading across Steve’s chest. 

“Buck, I’m gonna—” And a hand pulling his hair is all the warning he gets before he swallows down the bitter spunk, Steve helplessly juddering as his orgasm is pulled out of him with a delicate swipe of Bucky’s tongue along the underside of his cock. After letting Steve’s softening and oversensitive dick out of his mouth with a wet plop, Bucky wraps a loose fist around himself and finishes in two pulls.

Steve tugs at Bucky’s shoulder from where he’s slumped and pulls him up to eye level, only to get distracted and kiss the tired smile off Bucky’s face.

“Why didn’t we do that earlier?” Bucky asks, breaking the kiss with a bite to Steve’s lower lip.

“Who knows,” Steve chuckles, pulling the blankets over them and wrapping Bucky in his embrace.


End file.
